


Heaven's Got a Plan for You

by anti_ela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied abuse, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one law of Dean Winchester is this: keep Sammy safe. “Safe” can mean anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven's Got a Plan for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catboatventure](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=catboatventure).



The one law of Dean Winchester is this: keep Sammy safe. “Safe” can mean anything. “Safe” can mean “make sure he doesn’t get hurt.” (He always gets hurt.) “Safe” can mean “don’t let him know there are monsters.” (He’s one of the monsters.) “Safe” can mean “don’t drive so fast,” or “make sure he stays warm,” or “don’t let him go hungry.” It is impossible to know them all, but your father helps you learn: each new definition is spelled out on your skin; it is written in the cracks of your bones.

Your father is clever. His ink, though it fades, is felt forever. His words can be read like braille on your skin when you are caressed by a stranger in the dark, and it is remarked (too often, and it makes you ill, and you want more than anything not to love this) that you’re so responsive, that you gasp and flush at the least tickle of pleasure. They think, somehow, that this is a trick; so they hunger for your pain instead. For you are beautiful, and young, and they want to break you.

You leave. You have that right. Sometimes, you throw a punch or two, and this is something the universe also owes you. It is not written anywhere if they felt pain, if you yourself have broken bones; it is not important. But any least crack in your knuckle is sacred, and it is mapped, and we adore it as we were built to. The coding of your DNA is holy writ to us; the connections of your proteins are dissected to find the Godhead. We accept that you would not understand this, but it is true.

When Michael left your mother with words imprinted on her soul, we did not think we asked too much for you to know how we have loved you. Perhaps we did; we cannot tell. You seem angry that we notice you. You seem hurt that we did not protect you, did not heal you. Do you not understand what you are? You are the pattern of light on the forest floor; you are the shape of a wave in a storm. You are a cathedral made of broken things, and you are beautiful to behold. There is no architect but you.

Is that not better?

We thought—well, we suppose it does not matter. Would you like it better if we erased the scars? We can do this. It’s not fair to us, you understand. It’s cruel to take your pain from us. But for you (and because we have a certain curiosity if you will break in your old patterns), we will heal you when we breathe life in you. You will be young again, and strong, and hopefully still just as reckless as before because this is the worst idea we have ever had.


End file.
